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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28685634">1-800-273-8255</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/beckay1007/pseuds/beckay1007'>beckay1007</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>+1, 5 Times, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Coming Out, Fluff, Heavy Angst, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Masturbation, Phone Sex, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Sad Ending, Smut, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Notes, True Love, this is really fucking sad</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 07:01:38</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,718</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28685634</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/beckay1007/pseuds/beckay1007</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Dream works at a suicide hotline. George calls. </p><p>Or in which, 5 times in which Dream saved George, and 1 time where George saves himself. </p><p>TW - Suicide attempt, Suicidal Thoughts, Self Harm,</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>35</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>230</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Hi! This little tidbit of a story popped into my head. This is not light. Or fluffy. If you're looking to smile, go find another story. If you're easily triggered by suicide, please do not read this. </p><p>If you like real angst, some fucking real mental health problems, and smut with feelings, this is for you!</p><p>There is gonna be 6 chapters of this. I hope you enjoy it! I only ship the online personas of these characters, if they indicate that they are uncomfy at all with this story or the ship, it will come down immediately :)</p><p>This will be a shorter chapter, they will get longer. I estimate this to be around 20k words, and then I'll probably transition it into a one shot. Maybe. I don't know.</p><p>No smut in this chapter yet, you horny fucks. :)</p><p>I love you! Let me know whatcha think.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"You have reached the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline, also servicing the Veterans service line. If you are in emotional distress or suicidal crisis or are concerned about someone who might be, we're here to help. Please remain on the line while we route your call to the nearest crisis center in our network."</p><p>“What sparked you to reach out today?” A deep baritone voice filled George’s ears as his hands shook. He cleared his throat, scratchy from his earlier crying.</p><p>“I- I think I’m suicidal,” George confessed to the speaker of his phone. </p><p>“Why?” said a soft voice.</p><p>“Because I’m just a burden on others.” He was burdening the person on the other line as well. It was stupid to call in the first place. </p><p>“How are you a burden?” the voice came through clearer now, as if the person had adjusted their headphones. </p><p>“I- I, I just am. I’m useless.” George felt his voice rising in anguish. He needed to get it together. </p><p>“How are you useless?” The voice typed something in his computer, the keys loud and centering. George imagined a faceless person, judging him as he spilled all his life secrets to a complete stranger. He couldn't even commit suicide properly. He had to talk to someone about it first. He was such a failure. </p><p>“I can’t do anything right.”</p><p>“Like what?” the soft voice grew more concerned. </p><p>“Everything,” George said, scoffing. </p><p>“Like what?” The voice persisted. </p><p>“I came out to my parents today,” George felt the words leave his mouth as he paced around the room. “It didn’t go well.” He heard a hum of pity and acknowledgment come through the phone, the squeaking of a chair as the person got more comfortable on the other line. </p><p>“Coming out is never easy,” the voice sympathized. “What do you mean by, it didn’t go well?” George felt a wave of nausea as he remembered the harsh words and the screaming from his father, his mother sitting passively at his side, afraid to speak, or move, or doing anything but stare at George emptily with disgust. </p><p>“My father-” George swallowed, trying to resist the urge to vomit. “H-he isn’t very tolerant,” George explained. “We’ve always been very religious. I don’t even live with them anymore, I don’t know why I felt the need to tell them. I have a boyfrie-” George stopped, closing his eyes to keep the tears at bay. He would not cry over Daniel anymore. He wouldn’t.</p><p>“Had. I had a boyfriend. And I wanted to ask him to marry me, and for some godforsaken reason, I decided I wanted my parents there. It seemed wrong to get married and not tell them, you know?” George rambled, pushing a hand through his brown hair, slick with leftover product and grease. He couldn’t remember the last time he had showered, let alone brushed his hair.</p><p>“And, what happened after that? Did your father hurt or threaten you in any way?” The other line sounded like he pitied him, his voice full of sympathy. George hated being pitied. </p><p>“Don’t pity me,” George snapped. “Of course he threatened to hurt me. I’ve been his personal punching bag for as long as I can remember.” </p><p>“I’m sorry. I wasn’t pitying you.” the voice said, returning to the neutral voice he had heard at the beginning of the call. “I was trying to better understand the situation. We don’t have to talk about your father at all. How about we talk about you, instead?” The man’s voice echoed through the receiver. George picked at his cuticles, pulling at a hangnail until little droplets of red started the prick at the surface. He relished the pain, pulling at it until the skin snapped off his finger. White, hot pain spread through his body as he stared at the hangnail.</p><p>“Sir? Are you still with me? What’s your name?”</p><p>“George.” </p><p>“I like your name. I’m not allowed to tell you mine, but you can call me Dream.” The voice, Dream’s, smooth and manly, came back at him.</p><p>“Dream.” George thought the name was odd but didn’t push it further. </p><p>“I wanted to be accepted.” George continued, feeling shame rush through him. It seemed so stupid to hope for acceptance or even tolerance now. “I wanted them to love me for who I am, but that was fucking stupid for me to even think they would.” George exhaled and released a bitter laugh. </p><p>“It’s not stupid at all.” Dream murmured. “You deserve to be accepted for who you are, no matter what gender or sexual orientation you are. You deserve love.”</p><p>George felt a pang in his chest at his words. He laid down slowly on the stiff tile floors in his tiny kitchen and let the cold seep into his overheating back. The sensory shock of the change in temperature made George realize the back of his shirt was soaked through, but if it was from sweat or the rain, he didn’t know. </p><p>“Thank you for saying that, but I don’t think I do,” George said, turning on the speakerphone so he could drop his hand from his ear, as it was beginning to get numb. He rolled his shoulder a few times as Dream took a deep breath.</p><p>“I don’t know you very well,” Dream started, his voice dropping in tone and in volume. George strained to hear him. “But I can tell just by talking to you for a few minutes that you’re incredibly brave. You took a chance. Made a sacrifice. I can also tell you that you’ve got a huge heart. You said you had a boyfriend, that you were going to propose?” </p><p>George let out a stifled sob as Dream continued.</p><p>“I’m sorry that didn’t work out for you. You told your parents for him. You braved that for him. Any man, any person,” Dream corrected himself. “Would be incredibly lucky to have a person in their life that would take that risk for them. Your life is a precious one, George. Don’t throw it away because a couple of people couldn’t accept who you are. I accept you. I see you. I know what you’ve been through, and I can tell you it gets easier. Don’t give up, George. Not until you know that there are amazing people in the world. Incredible journeys to be taken, spectacular kisses to be had, and a family.” Dream finished with another exhale. </p><p>The line went quiet.</p><p>Somehow, the conversation, that short conversation that only had lasted a few minutes, made George feel better, not entirely but enough to make him want to see what will happen tomorrow.</p><p>“How do you know all this?” George interrogated after a period of silence.</p><p>Dream laughed, a wheeze that made George smile. This man's laugh was cute, if not a little unconventional. </p><p>“Let’s just say I know a couple of things about not being accepted by your family. It gets better. I promise.” </p><p>George nodded, even though the man couldn’t see him do it. He took a shaky deep breath and closed his eyes.</p><p>“Hey, Dream?”</p><p>“Yes, George?”</p><p>“Thanks. This...actually really helped.” George confessed.</p><p>“Anytime. Just, promise you’ll call again if you ever feel this way again? Ask for me by name. I'll help you if I'm in.”</p><p>“Promise.” George said, not truly meaning his words. Dream was just a voice, who was reading off the written script into the phone. He didn't care if George called back.</p><p>“Thank you.” Dream said, George could hear the doubt in his voice, not believing that this man would call back. They rarely did. </p><p>“Goodnight, George.” Dream spoke softly.</p><p>“Goodnight, Dream.”</p><p>George hung up the phone and stared at the ceiling. Perhaps there would be a future beyond Daniel, beyond his father, beyond his fucking inability to be happy. Maybe.</p><p>George rose off the ground and grabbed a bottle of water from the cabinet. His bed seemed miles away, so he made his way to the couch, resting his body on the plush cushions and pillows.</p><p>He closed his eyes, thinking of a soft man’s voice, telling him to hold on. </p><p>So, he would. For now.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Dream's POV. The second time he saved him. He won't let him slip away again.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hi! Here is the next installment of this story. I hope you enjoy! I was shocked by the kudos and the comments and the bookmarks on this story. I'm so excited to share this with you, and those things give me life, so keep it coming :)</p><p>I am looking for a beta! Please dm me if you're interested.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The second night George calls, Dream was halfway through eating a turkey sandwich, his feet propped up on his desk while he absentmindedly scrolled through his Instagram feed. It had been a slow night, and Dream regretted taking the night shift for what seemed like the millionth time that night. Patches was throwing up in the morning for his usual shift, so he switched it out so he could take her to the vet. But, now, with the stale air filling his lungs, he wished more than anything that he was home. </p><p>The phone rings, and Dream jumped from his relaxed position, his feet falling off the desk with a smack and a slightly twisted ankle from the awkward positioning. He threw on his headset, beaten up neon green plastic contrasting with the soft dusty blonde locks of unruly hair. He cleared his throat, trying to create the professional yet calming voice that he used with the people that called him.</p><p>“Thank you for calling the suicide hotline, how can I help you today?”</p><p>Muffled crying filled Dream’s ears. Hearing people cry was part of his job, and it never really phased him anymore. But, this particular crying cut through Dream’s hard exterior. It pained him to hear this person in obvious distress. </p><p>“M-may I speak to Dream, please,” the man hiccuped on the other line. </p><p>Dream was confused. He had never, ever, told anyone his name before. He tried to keep his job impartial from the rest of his life, and although it wasn’t his real name, he couldn’t help but feel slightly violated. Was this a prank? </p><p>“Nick, is this you? I told you, stop calling me here unless you really have an issue. It’s not funny.” Dream sighed and picked up his sandwich, prepared to hear his oldest friend’s laugh fill his ears as he made fun of him for being “an emotional support phone hooker who didn’t even get to enjoy the fun part.” Sapnap’s words. Not his. </p><p>“N-no. This is George. I called once before, but, of course, you don’t remember me, you must have so many people who call you everyday. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have called, I’ll just go, thank you, sorry.” He heard movement as George made to hang up the phone.</p><p>“No!” Dream shouted, unceremoniously dropping his half eaten sandwich on the floor. He remembered this caller. George. He had thought about his voice, and his situation, more than a few times. He reminded him of himself as a younger man, a more confused and, well, let’s face it, a closeted man. His voice haunted him, broken, but with an adorable accent. British, he thought. </p><p>He had tried to find him. He would never admit it to anyone but himself. He could be fired, hell, he could be blacklisted from every call center in his area, but something drew Dream to George. He had to find him. </p><p>Dream loved to computer program. It was a hobby of his, and while he considered making it a career, his passion mainly laid in coding for Minecraft and creating plugins. He found George’s number in the database, and tried to search for his name. </p><p>What did he really know about him? His deepest secrets and inner turmoil, and his first name. George. </p><p>He came up with nothing, closing his computer browsers frantically as he filled with shame. This was a complete violation of his privacy. It was against the law. He couldn’t do this. </p><p>But, if he couldn’t do it, why was he so drawn to finding the boy with the broken heart and the British accent? He found himself listening into his co-workers calls, seeing if anyone was speaking to George. He looked on the street, listening for the same British voice that he had heard. He found himself, his hands down his pants, sticky shame filling him as someone with the same accent as the boy sucked off a man who looked remarkably like Dream. </p><p>He snapped back to reality, picking up the phone and clearing his throat.</p><p>“George? Are you okay?” Dream said, trying to grasp back into reality. </p><p>George’s voice came through in a second.</p><p>“I’m fine.” George certainly did not sound fine. His voice came through in shaky, harsh breaths, and the line was choppy and hard to hear. </p><p>“Are- are you sure? I’m here to help you. What happened?” </p><p>“I just got really overwhelmed, Dream. I know I said I would call if I was struggling again, and it-it hasn’t been this bad in a while. And, yeah. I just- I just wanted to hear your voice again.” George confessed.</p><p>Dream let out a breath of relief. </p><p>“Is that okay?” George asked, his voice filling with angst. </p><p>“No- I mean, yes, yeah, it’s fine. I was just worried, I guess. About you. I hadn’t heard from you in a while, so I figured that you were okay, or didn’t need help.” Dream ran his hands through his hair, a habit he did when he was uncomfortable or nervous. His hand ran into his headset, knocking it from his ears and clattered to the ground.</p><p>“Shit!” Dream swore and dove for the headset. He needed to stop being a such a fucking spaz. This was his job, dammit. He needed to help him. He needed to not let him get away from him again. He wanted to know George. </p><p>“Oh,” George sounded scared, “Are you alright? You sound busy. I’m sorry for worrying you. I should probably hang up, shouldn’t I?” George asked. </p><p>“No! I want to talk to you.” Dream rushed, readjusting his headset and settling in with a deep breath. </p><p>“Y- you do?” George asked, his smile evident in his voice.</p><p>“I do. But, do you think you can stop calling me on the suicide hotline?” Dream asked, careful not to run his hands through his hair again. </p><p>“Bu- but how can we talk? I want to talk to you. But if I’m a burden, we don’t have to. I’m sorry for bein-” </p><p>“George, I want to give you my phone number.” Dream said. That stopped George, his voice catching on his words. </p><p>“Phone number?” </p><p>“Yeah. I was hoping you could just text me whenever you wanted to talk and I could do the same, if it’s okay. Also, it’s not like I live here so I won’t be here every night. I think it’ll be easier for you. I’ve been through what you’re going through George. I know how to help you, and I know calling the suicide hotline probably isn’t ideal for you. So, I thought, I could help you. Just not through the hotline.”</p><p> Dream stopped to take a breath, but charged on, not giving George a moment to interrupt him. </p><p>“If this is uncomfortable for you in anyway, just forget it. I can get someone else for you to talk to, or we can forget I ever asked. I just remember being in your shoes, George. I remember being scared of being accepted, being unsure of who I was and what I was feeling. I wish I had someone to help me through it. Let me help you, George. Let me be that person for you,” Dream finished, adrenaline pumping through his veins as he confessed to him. Silence filled the line as George thought. The buzz of the line had never been so loud to Dream. </p><p>He had crossed the line, Dream thought. This was unheard of. No private information was to be given to any caller, ever. But, a nagging feeling in Dream’s gut made him feel like this boy was all worth it. Even if he got fired. George could be worth it.</p><p>“That’s...that’s perfect.” George’s voice echoed through the line. </p><p>“Great,” said Dream, smiling. </p><p>He gave George his number, repeating it 3 times just to make sure George had the right number. George had hung up with a laugh and a promise to text the next day, his accent emphasizing the vowels in each word. It was adorable. </p><p>Dream felt satisfied as the line clicked dead. Suddenly, the night shift didn’t seem so bad anymore.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Next update: January 25th. Kudos and comments are never expected, but always appreciated if you enjoyed.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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